Sly, Young and Orphaned
by Slygirl25
Summary: Sly Cooper is finally going to delve into the many thieveing way through an ancient book, when he and his father are interupted by a crash. The complet story of how Sly ends up in an orphanage.


Authors note: All Sly Cooper characters are © to Sucker Punch Productions. I'm just borrowing.

_--Sly, Young and Orphaned--_

_By: Slygirl25; Brandi_

A scruffy young raccoon bounced with every step his father took as he was perched on his father's shoulders. They had been walking a long time "Where we going anyways, daddy?" the young Sly abruptly suddenly. His father peered over his shoulder toward his son; they had a familiar humor to them as they shimmered a dull hazel brown in the moonlight. "Someone is _looking_ for me and I can't afford to be found." Sly clearly didn't understand many words at the time, let alone the sarcastic tone in his father's voice, but he continued to look around curiously as he swayed on his fathers shoulders.

His father suddenly turned into a trashed alleyway and pulled open the side door of an old abandoned building which would eventually become the safe house. The hinges of the door were rusty and had to be jerked hard to open. The old coon swung his son off his shoulders placing him onto the terrain of dusty carpet. "Now son I have a few things to tell you." He said as he barred the door carefully. Sly was excited, ready for another one of his father's amazing thief tales. "We are here because of what I am… a thief. You will hopefully become one. Remember you are never forced to do anything. But I needed to give you something in private." He pulled a book out of his patched sack. "But if you ever consider becoming like your old man, this book will tell you everything you need to know about us Coopers."Sly didn't need the lecture, he had always been showing a large curiosity in his father's "_job"_, his dad knew this but he always promised to give him the option. He looked sternly in his son's eyes, something he always did when he told him something important. "Now promise me you'll never think of yourself as a bad guy no madder who gets into your head, you are a thief but you are still on the right side of the law" Sly grasped the book and held it with wobbly arms. He blew of dust to reveal an interesting cover and a confusing name "the Thevious Racoonus". Sly flashed a grin at his father, then he gingerly reached a hand down to lift the cover…

Just then there was a strange noise. Sly and his father's head both shot up simultaneously. The side door looked as if it was caving in, the noise came again and a few splinter shards flew off the wood as it caved in more. The book was pulled from Sly's outstretched hands and he was shoved into the closet. Blackness, all he heard was his uneven breathing and the rhythmic sound of the door getting broken down, finally it slammed and sly felt the old floor quiver from the force, he held his breath now. There wasn't even a pause and there were obvious sounds of a struggle, then suddenly a shriek of pure agony. It all happened so fast and yet it seemed to be going on for a lifetime Sly sat on the cold floor perched between a mop and a rack of coats that smelled of mothballs. He gasped to hold back a cough. A wet sticky liquid seeped under the door and touched Sly's hands but it was to dark to see what it was. Sly stayed still for a minute... he expected his father to burst open the door and shout "Surprise! It was just Mcsweeny! Up to another one of his ol' tricks!" but no, nothing came.

With the sudden silence of the apartment Sly could only hear his heart beating swiftly in his ears. His breath coming in deep swallows. He put a hand to the doorknob and tried to push it open, it swung forward barely an inch before hitting into something, disallowing him to push it open any further. Sly peaked through the small crack; he rubbed his eyes to see if he was really seeing what he thought he was. The apartment was in shreds and the book cover he had just held in his hands a few moments earlier sat on the floor completely empty. He pushed on the door harder to see more. But something was defiantly lying against the door. He heaved on the door until he got a crack large enough to squeeze through, light flooded in. But before he left the closet he looked down. The sticky liquid all over the floor was red...blood, sly looked down at his hands...blood. His eye's he had whipped a moment ago was all coated in blood. Sly screamed. He jumped through the small opening and saw his father perched against the closet door... stone cold dead.

Sly wailed but no one was around to hear his cries. He ran over to his father "It's all fake, it's all fake!" Sly kept telling himself "It's just a dream!" He scooted close to his fathers body, allowing his father's blood to soak into his fur. He cried loudly. He stayed there for a few hours his eyes bloodshot from the crying. He finally decided to get up. He ran for the phone although there wasn't much he could do now, his father's throat had been slit, his breathing had seized long before Sly had squeeze out of his hiding place. He called the only number he knew: 911. He just wanted the police to find whoever killed his father. "H-Hello? Get me the police… my fathers been… k-killed!" sly said in a shaky voice, his sad crying voice must of sounded fake because the woman on the end of the phone huffed "It's very early little boy haven't your parents ever told you not to play with the phone! Never joke about something like this!" the dial tone came up echoed mockingly. Sly pushed the phone off the counter and pounded his fists on the floor "its not fare!" he screamed tears streaming wildly down his face; he passed out after an hour or so of a tantrum.

The next day he was still in the same room he was still on the floor and his father was still dead, flies now buzzing around the motionless bloody mess. Sly was starving; He sat up thinking of the turn of events the night before, suddenly filled with rage. He hated the police, they hadn't believed him! No one would come to investigate no one would come and stop the murderers. No one. Sly sighed he was beyond tears by now as if he had cried all the water out of his system. He had pure hatred toward the police now he knew for sure he'd follow his father's footsteps and laugh in the faces of those police men just as they have laughed in his. He looked back at his father as he got up. He quickly averted his eyes and stumbled out the broken doorway.

He slowed his pace when he got outside; the town he was in was dead quiet. He just wanted to find someone to believe him. He walked a long while and soon he wished he had his father to help him keep walking, but if he still had his father he wouldn't be walking in the first place. He just wanted to see his father with his twinkling knowledge-filled eyes that now stared dully into space. He finally got into the city and there were many passing civilians and suddenly a nice looking fox woman ran up to him. "Little boy, are you okay!?" the woman screamed terrified. Sly realized he was still covered in his father's blood the woman started crying for help. Sly looked up at the kind lady "I'm fine, but my father..." Sly looked back; he forgot to mark the trail back to his father. Tears started to swell up again. 

The woman picked Sly up and called a taxi Sly tried to explain he was fine but she stubbornly wouldn't listen she brought him to the hospital.

Sly sat quietly, sitting in those revealing blue hospital clothes and the doctor looked him over finally concluding; he had no wounds at all, _duh_. They cleaned Sly up and the doctor came back over to him "ok young coon, we need you to tell us your parent's phone number so you can get home." Sly blubbered at his words" My dad is... dead" The doctor looked down at the Sly, and nodded slowly as he grabbed the phone off the bed stand. A few hours later, Sly (who was back in his now clean yet damp clothes) was told to get into a car, after a moment of driving, the overly-perky driver mentioned something about a Happy Campers Orphanage.

Things would never be the same.


End file.
